


the egbert horror (or The Trailerstuck Halloween Special)

by badAquatic



Series: Trailerstuck [70]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, Description of bloody demonic rituals, F/M, Illustrated, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:06:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2644394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"On my travels across New Earth, I uncovered this book in the Shongolian black market of Ban Lang. It has taken me years but I have confirmed its authenticity as a true book of incantations pertaining to the ancient, forbidden religions of tribal Old Alternia." </p><p>On a boring Wednesday, Nepeta uncovers a mysterious book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. wednesday shopping

**== >Be Nepeta shopping **

 

You enter Goodwill with a long list of items you need to purchase and how much money you’re allowed to spend now that the insurance ( _finally_ ) came in. The living room furniture is wrecked and it’s up to you to purchase new ones, along with grub toys for Simham. You plan to get the best for Simham (who is currently strapped at your chest in an egg carrier) once it’s within your budget. You browse the furniture; discovering most of the couches hard or questionable smelling but there’s a large one with an obnoxious floral pattern you know your father will hate. It’s still cheaper to upholster it.

You look briefly at the list. “Alright, I got a couch, tables, chairs, teething rings, grub pen…”

The only thing left are grub toys. You had a habit of destroying yours when you got too big to really enjoy them so there are no hand-me-downs for Simham. The toy section doesn’t have a lot to be desired though. Stained board picture books, aged and flat stuffed animals, Eighth Age movies on cassette…you wouldn’t give these presents to a kid you _disliked._ You go to the book section. Goodwill may be lacking in some departments but they were always good for books and hilariously dated magazines. It’s here you find a good variety of children’s books stashed away: _The Very Hungry Grub, Goodnight Moons, The Stinky Cheese Man,_ and _The Culling Tree._ You’ve always had a shortage of books in your trailer. While browsing the adult novels, you find a leathery book. It stands out because it’s the only thing not a terrible romance or a young adult dystopia that fared poorly in the markets.

The leather is yellow-grey and has few creases, with a less scaly texture than most leathers. The binding on it is rough and black. Touching it doesn’t discern the texture for you; it’s either very coarse yarn…or hair. You open the book and find no cover title; just scribbling in dark red ink. It reads:

_On my travels across New Earth, I uncovered this book in the Shongolian black market of Ban Lang. It has taken me years but I have confirmed its authenticity as a true book of incantations pertaining to the ancient, forbidden religions of tribal Old Alternia. I have gone through the painstaking task of translating it from the forested dialect of Old Alternian to English. I do this not for occult pursuit but out of scholarly curiosity. Hopefully, my progress will not summon the attention of the occult forces concealed within this most dreaded tome.—E.L._

You flip through the book, uncovering black and white ink washes of ghoulish monstrosities that defy basic anatomy, spell circles, Alternian letters in scrawled ink, questionable stains on the pages, and fearful translated annotations. Most of them consistently repeating ‘CAUTION’ and ‘DO NOT’. Fake or not, it’s interesting and only costs two dollars. You purchase it along with all the other items and watch the employees load up the truck.

You drive through the downpour and enter the park. This Wednesday afternoon, the people in your neighborhood are scattered. Most are still frantically washing their buildup of laundry, purchasing new items now that insurance cleared through, or overseeing the repair crews. The repairs are still working their way down Fordham, which sustained most of the damage. They already estimated it would take _two days_ to fix your disaster zone of a trailer.

Your mother is on the front porch, testing out the new door. “What took you so long?” She frowns. “This new door is sticking…”

“New ones do that. It took me a while to find a good couch that would fit everyone.” You get out of the truck. “Where’s Dad?”

“Trying to fix the oven with Gamzee’s ‘help’ while the repair crews patch up the living room. It’s going as well as it could.” Your mother answers, rolling her eyes.

You think your Dad is better off occupied. He’s been in a strange mood since Monday, often staring into the distance and rarely talking. You think he’s in an emotional funk but know that’s something for Rufioh to handle. You let your father and Gamzee handle the furniture while you cut across your yard to see Kanaya with the book secured in a bag tucked under your arm. In the Maryam trailer, Kanaya and Rose are sitting in the living room with the door open to let out some of the humidity. The notion doesn’t save their hair though, which is completely frizzy.

“How’s it going?” you ask.

“Oh, not much. Kanaya’s catching me up on everything I missed.” Rose says.

“What’s in the bag?” Kanaya asks.

You pull the book out. “I found this at Goodwill. I thought it was someone’s idea of a prank so I bought it. It kind of reminds me of the journals from _Gravity Falls_ with all the ink and drawings.”

Kanaya squints at the book. “It smells strange.”

Rose’s eyes light up. “ _Ooh_! Let me see that!” When you hand the book over, she runs her fingers along the binding and then the cover. “It looks so…authentic.”

“It could just be a replica.” Kanaya says, skeptically.

“Why would someone go through the trouble of replicating this? Kanaya, this is _troll leather_.” Rose embellishes, flipping through the yellowed pages, “That means someone went through the trouble of skinning a troll, drying it, curing it, and putting it on a book all at the risk of being arrested. _Oh_.” Rose’s eyes widen. “They’ve translated rituals too.”

“Hold on,” you snicker, getting your iHusk, “I have to call our resident atheist about this. He’ll get a kick out of this.”

Kanaya bites her lip, “Do you…even _know_ what that is? That’s not some Alternian text our parents or ancestors used to conjure lesser demons under the control of Prince of Pitch and Lies and the Princess of Emptiness and Hate. That is a text from a far older, far darker religion that was outlawed long before our ancestors were even _laid_!”

Kanaya is sitting up straighter hands clenched lightly in her lap. “I read about it once when with my mother visited an old colleague of hers that had passed away.  Vriska wasn’t interested in their old books, but I was. The teacher's husband was part of an archaeological team that had been digging in New China, unearthing relics from the Harrowing. What they found was a millennium old, dating back only to Old Alternia. _Someone_ must have wanted to preserve some part of that past, but it is a dark religion that pays homage to a god of violence, chaos, and is the keeper of the dead.

“A being of such unspeakable terror that to be in his presence was said to make even the strong troll weep and all warmth stolen from their bodies and all life to drain from their veins as their very soul tried to crawl its way out of their skin to escape his gaze. Not even the priests of Time’s Clockworks dare speak of this force that captures the souls of the forgotten, the violently killed, or those who die of causes too horrific to speak of; the ones that slip through the cracks of the Life-Death Machine and into the hidden, icy rivers below…”

She pauses to look at the book, “If my hunch is correct, and the man is to believed, then the book you hold is a authentic Book of Midios, named for the sorceress who was said to have been dragged down to this place and recorded all she saw to share with the world upon ascending from the depths.”

Rose’s eyes only get wider but you’re skeptical about all of this. Religion runs in your family but you’ve never felt pulled towards any cause or belief. You’re texting Sollux, saying, “If this Book of Midios is so important, what’s it doing in a _Goodwill_? Shouldn’t someone have given it to a book dealer or put it on eBay?”

“Odds are that someone must have uncovered it, thought it was a fake, sent it to Goodwill, and then it fell into our hands.” Rose says, grinning. She moves through the book and her eyes land on a certain page. “The rituals in here are far more detailed than the ones I’ve encountered in Troll Aleister Crowley’s grimoires. Most sorcerers have a habit of encoding or being vague in their instructions, even purposely hazardous to those who would dare replicate their rituals and glory.”

“I don’t feel good about this,” Kanaya says, “Meddling with demons is the last thing we should be doing. It’s Winter Holiday season. We should be thinking about joy, merriment, and family.”

Rose pouts. “I didn’t even get a chance to _enjoy_ Eldritch season! _None_ of us did. If it wasn’t for the presents, everyone would think Winter Holiday was a bore. No, let’s have some _real_ fun.” She taps her chin, looking at the book. “It says we need to go to a location of known violence for this ritual.”

“What about the Egbert trailer? That’s where Jane was hurt really bad.” You suggest.

“ _Nepeta_.” Kanaya groans.

“What? I’m curious too.” You say, “It’s not like Ms. Egbert’s awake and the police are done snooping around the place. They packed up all their stuff in the evidence lockers so it’s not like we can wreck the place anymore than it already is. All that’s left is the trailer. I bet its already spooky.”

“That sounds promising.” says Rose.

“I doubt John would be happy about you using his house for a demonic ritual.” Kanaya says.

“He won’t care. John’s into the supernatural as much as I am.” Rose adds, “We’ve held séances and went ghost hunting all the time during middle school. We explored the abandoned construction yard on our first date.”

Kanaya folds her arms. “Well, even if John would be alright with it, no one else is going to agree to this _insanity_ …”

Thirty minutes later, Sollux arrives with Karkat and Dave. The three have been hanging out recently, acting like the Dynamic Trio. You tell them about the book and your plan and the reactions are as you figured.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts or demons.” says Sollux, rolling his eyes.

“It’s not like we haven’t tangled with the supposed ‘supernatural’ before.” Karkat says, “We _did_ go to Darkleer Manor by ourselves on a moonless night.”

“Aren’t you two cliché?” Rose snorts.

“We’re talking about going to Egbert’s trailer to summon demons and _you_ want to talk about cliché, Lalonde?” Karkat asks.

“I still think this is stupid as hell.” Sollux says, “Those grimoires are written by people who get high off their ass and write down whatever they think is ‘magical’ and sell it to get rich off of tweens who want to be ‘edgy’ and piss off their Orthodoxian parents. I’m only going along with this to prove to you that this is all crap.” 

“It’s not like John will care. He’s at a meeting until eleven and who knows when he’ll _actually_ be home.” Dave smirks. “I say we do it. If it doesn’t work, eh, whatever. We got a god laugh out of it. If it does, we can make a reality TV show with those yahoos on the sci-fi channel.”

“Let’s go set it up then.” Rose stands. “We can’t do the ritual until darkness falls. Let’s go to my trailer, get my ritual things, and go to John’s trailer.”

“Are you all _insane_?” Kanaya asks, “These are not just demons but dark entities that thrive on violence and negativity! Do you even know what said ritual will _do?_ ” The rest of you are walking to the door but Kanaya follows with a somewhat panicked look in her eyes, “This is ancient powerful magic that even our ancestors feared to stir up. Even the Handmaiden considered the disciples of Midios and the Emperor of Infernal Torment heretics that needed to be culled!”

“Kanaya, calm down,” Karkat says, “it’s just a _book_. It can’t hurt us.”

The jadeblood frowns and stalks over to Rose to pluck the book out of her hands. She reads from the book, “‘ _At the midnight hour no later than the zenith of midnight, no minute later, draw the circle around all those participating in the ritual and pass a dish around for each to cut their hand and bleed into. This offering of blood is key to allowing the hungering dead to enter, feed, and commune with the participants._ _Keep salt and pure water at hand._ _’_

“Where will you even find pure water in this dump? And how does a _blood ritual_ sound like a good idea? One that is meant to commune with the dead to cure loved ones of ailments for a price? Have you noticed no price is given? And who is sick enough you are going to ask dark forces to cure?” she snaps, shoving the book back into Rose's hands.

Rose fumbles with the book and drops it. It lands on the floor and opens to a page that gruesomely depicts a group of trolls, naked, being skinned alive by demons and made into living effigies....with instructions on how to actually do such a thing to a living being in detail.

“That seems ominous.” Karkat says.

“Faaaaake.” Sollux says, rolling his eyes.

“Can’t you buy pure water from 711?” you ask.

Rose picks up the book, eyes still on it. “We didn’t say we’re going to curse someone. We’re just going to see what will happen.”

“Maybe we can ask the demons to give Kanaya a new sense of humor?” Dave suggests.

“What exactly is ‘humorous’ about dealing with demons?” Kanaya asks, “I’m trying to tell you its _evil_ and no one is listening to me!”

“You said the same thing about _Paranormal Activity 3._ ” You say.

“And ouija at your slumber party.” Karkat says, “If you don’t want to come that’s fine.”

“This isn’t an ouija board! This is an authentic Book of Midios! Just look!” She points to the picture and the instructions on creating effigies out of living victims, “Does that seem like just 'spooky fun' to you? And what happened to the original owner? Can we just...not do _anything_ in it? Let's not tempt fate here?”

Sollux takes the book, flipping through it with a grin and showing off grisly pictures of Alternian gods ripped and mangled and other images of desecration, “I should show this to Eridan. He’d flip his pagan shit if he saw this.”

You look outside the window and see the sun is already setting. There’s no moon out tonight, causing a darkness to start settling over the trailer park, only interrupted by the street and porch lights starting to flickering on; glimmering through the downpour.

“Not if we want to hear about that shit for the rest of our lives--” Karkat begins but Sollux is already out of the door, pulling out his umbrella.

“Hey, wait up!” you say, following after him.

“Make sure the book doesn’t get wet!” Rose says, staying close to Sollux.

_You hear Kanaya huffing behind you, “Wait a minute! This isn’t _over_!”_


	2. the non-believer’s guide to the supernatural

**== >Nepeta: Be Sollux at that minute **

 

You are Sollux and you’re walking through the rain, carrying the book. The rain is getting heavier and you’re glad you brought the car. Dave, Karkat, Rose, and Nepeta all pile in, taking off before Kanaya can talk you out of it. You respect Maryam as much as the next troll but she buys _way_ too much in the spooky cult bullshit. Everyone knows most cults were founded by bored hippies who have nothing better to do that chew on shrooms and take part in weird History Channel documentaries.

You drive to your trailer, where you know Eridan is watching over the eggs with Terezi. Eridan is on the porch, tossing water out of a large metal pan.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“The kitchen roof’s sprung a leak and I think the ground is sloping or something ‘cause everything on the counter is rolling.” Eridan says. He looks at the book tucked under your arm. “What’s that?”

Nepeta opens the door to the crowded back seat and stretches. “A book I got from Goodwill. Kanaya says it’s evil.”

Eridan blinks. “What.”

You step on the porch and proudly display the book with great flourish, “Look at this 'authentic' copy of an unholy book, complete with gruesome pictures and angry teenage god-hate,” You aren't taking this serious as you show Eridan the pictures. “We’re going to go try it out.”

Eridan looks uneasy and shudders. “Are you _sure_ about that, Sol? I mean, what if it’s _real_?”

You stare at him. “You’ve been watching too many schlock horror movies.”

Eridan frowns. “I don’t like horror movies, Sol, and I don’t like that book. Grimoires are real and they can be dangerous. You never heard of the people who poisoned themselves trying to make homunculi? Combining all sorts of chemicals and making cyanide gas? Even if it ain’t real, could still be dangerous.”

You roll your eyes. “We’re reading from a book, not doing alchemy.” You turn away because you know being left out only makes Eridan want to be a part of things even more. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t like this…”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, what are you going to _do_ about it, fishlips?”

Eridan glares at you and sticks his head through the door. “Fef! Sollux is doing something stupid!”

“No, don’t do that!” you say quickly but Feferi comes out of the trailer.

“What’s going on?” Feferi asks.

You hide the book behind your back, as you don’t want to set Feferi off before you prove the book’s a fake. “ _Nothing_! Eridan is trying to cramp in on our spooky fun like Kanaya.” You say, innocently.

Eridan huffs and walks over, yanking the book from your grip. He holds it up to Feferi. “They got a Book of Midios and they are going to try something!”

Feferi noticeably pales, eyes widened before narrowing. She knots her hands on her hips, “ _Sollux Captor!_ Don't you know what that is!? The Book of Midios is one of the most dangerous texts ever written! Don’t you know the legend of the Beast of Time’s End and how it came to be, transformed from the one playful Angel of Shadows and Curiosity?”

You let out a groan as you hear the Orthodoxian preacher lecture tone creeping into her voice. You don’t want to hear any of this but Rose is quick to step forward. “There are legends about this in the _Orthodoxian_ faith as well?”  

“Only one and honestly, it’s rarely told or discussed. I only heard about it because we had a guest preacher speak.” Feferi says. “An older woman from the Canonican who studied the ancient text and demonology shared the legend with us to warn the dangers of dabbling in that which is old, forgotten, and yet still very real.” She sits on a porch chair, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I'll do my best though to recount all the details,”

You let out a groan and Karkat pats your shoulder as he takes a seat on the porch with the others. “Hey, at least we get a spooky story to go before it all to heighten the experience eh?” he says jokingly.

“This is totally like what happened in _The Poltergeist_.” Dave pauses. “Or maybe it was _Insidious_?”

“Shhh! I want to hear!” Rose says, sitting next to Feferi. “The Canonican has a long history of sealed-off tomes involving demonology. It’s rare to hear of them openly discussing it in this day and age and even _harder_ to find digital copies.”

“Nice to know how ‘progressive’ the Orthodoxian church is.” Karkat snorts.

Feferi takes a breath and begins.


	3. The Fall of the Angel of Shadows and Curiosity

 

There was once an Angel of Shadows of Curiosity. He was not a powerful angel but he was the most beautiful with six ivory wings, six obsidian wings, and a face so perfect that only the pure could conceive its features. Everyone envied him, from the youngest angel to the eldest seraphim. He resided in windy and shadowy Heaven, welcoming the souls of the virtuous at their gates. He carried not the sword but the harp, fancying himself a poet and not a warrior. He had one sin—if you could call it that—and that was his curiosity. Through his curiosity he discovered music and wrote the best operas in all of Heaven but his curiosity was also his downfall.

Blood and Haze could not tolerate such a perfect being when they existed. One day, they snuck close enough to the edge of Heaven and whispered into the wind a much-dreaded question: “What lies beneath Heaven?”

The wind carried the question to the ears of the Angel. The Angel pondered and realized, “I do not know!”

The Angel queried and asked all the spirits, souls, and nobility of Heaven but it did not suffice, for the virtuous know nothing of the wicked. The question burned at the Angel and soon he could not control himself.

“I must know! I must know what lies beneath Heaven!” he said, consumed by curiosity.

So the Angel left Heaven and dove into Hell. He explored all the nine islands of Hell, looked at the evil punished and the virtuous pagans wander in foggy Limbo. The Angel sat on the Ninth Isle of Hell, which was freezing cold and only a realm for the traitorous. He watched the treacherous suffer and felt his question sated.

And once again, Blood and Haze whispered in the wind: “But what lies beneath Hell?”

And once again the Angel did not know and no one in Hell knew either, for the wicked have no knowledge of anything but themselves. The second question burned at the Angel and so he journeyed through Hell. No one had ever found the edge of Hell before but he would. He traveled across the offensively bright seas and when there was no more sea, he came to the vast void of space.

He traveled through star-studded darkness until he came to the great void, known as the Gate. It was a place not even the wickedest demons would tread and the most innocent of angels could tolerate. The Angel gazed into the Gate and could not look away. 

The Gate—the Infernal Machinery—had been there since the beginning of time and would be there at the end. Everything would collapsed into it and expand out of it over and over again into infinity.

The Angel entered the Gate and fell through a darkness so thick, it choked the air from his lungs and muffled his screams to soft whimpers. He fell and fell until he hit hard, unyielding black earth, lit only by dim glow of a low lying fog that stole the warmth from his wings. The Angel got to his feet, arms and wings wrapped about his quaking form as he looked about, seeing no way other than the lone path before him. He walked forward over a path of broken blades that cut into his feet, tearing them to bloody ribbons. Eventually he staggered to the shores of a river that silently flowed by.

He let out a cry and rushed forward, intent on sticking his wounded, bleeding feet into the water, but a voice stopped him: “Place no blood in the water unless you wish to speak with the dead that hunger for such life fluids.”

The voice was deep and rasped shrilly and came from a being that stood on the shore, a paddle in hand, before a small boat that bobbed on the silent river. The figure wore only a dirty rag about its too thin body, the bones protruding from the skin, rubbing the skin raw at the joints painfully. About its neck it wore a necklace made of numerous twitching, shriveled fingers of all shapes and sizes, some with rings and some with long painted nails. Its face was taunt skin pulled over a skull, the movement of darting eyes twitching below the skin. As it spoke, the skin over stretched over its face rippled.

“Who are you, who comes to this forgotten realm of death, so willingly?” it asked.

The Angel was in too much pain to present himself properly to the creature as he approached it. His eyes were on his necklace, horrified. “I am the Angel of Shadows and Curiosity,” he whispered, “I have come to see what lies beyond Hell. I must see all of this wretched realm or my curiosity shall never be sated.”

The ferryman laughed, the jaw beneath the skin open impossibly wide until the outline of teeth could be seen before it spoke again, “I can take you down these rivers of forgotten souls and cleansing to the graveyard of gods, the lowest pits of torment, the lonely corridors filled with remorse, and then to the palace of the lord of this realm but there is a price for your curiosity. There is great knowledge and wisdom here. There is the key to immortality, ways to heal the gravely sick beyond the knowledge of any god. There are curses of misfortune that can be at your finger tips, and all the history of the universe can be yours, but there is a price for all things and the price can be steep. For me, all I require of you is four fingers, two from your left and two from your right to add to my collection, and I shall take you down the rivers. It is the only way to go to be fair. The alternative is to submit yourself to the river to see how far your sin goes,”

The ferryman pointed to the silent water with the glowing fog hovering above. Only now did the Angel see the grey flashes in the water of souls, their bodies looking like they were melting away, faces bloated and eyes white like water-logged corpses. Their mouths wide open and swollen tongues lolling out hungrily as their hands clawed at the surface of the water but never pushed through, “And with your bleeding feet, you would be nothing but a feast for these hungry souls as they travel to whatever final shore their cleansed souls land upon.”

“I’ve no sin to carry myself through the river anyways. I am an angel. A being of purity.” insisted the Angel. Pain meant nothing to him when it came to solving his curiosity. His lips salivated at the thought of obtaining all that knowledge. So many curiosities would be solved and he would no longer be tempted by curiosity ever again. He would no longer be the angel of curiosity alone, but perhaps even knowledge. It was a lofty goal but it motivated him. He pulled a jagged shard out of his foot and used it to remove his fingers. Trembling and bleeding, he surrendered them to the ferryman. The Angel was in immense pain, but the promise of knowledge dulled it.

The ferryman chuckled, and stepped aside to allow the Angel onto the ferry before pushing it into the water and down the river, “Blood is the currency of the dead. They feed upon it to speak and be alive for a few moments. Blood is key. Your bleeding feet would have them pull you down, drink you dry as they tell you all they know....”

The rivers were frigid and even colder on the boat. Frost covered the Angel, icing over the wounds and wings as they descended. The Angel was surrounded by the silence of the dead before the river gave way to open plains of charred, grey landscape, a broiling sky of black clouds above, filled with the slow moving souls washing up from the river. They were small and skinny with bones peeking out from their grey flesh; they wandered into the landscape, eyes misty. Uncountable souls moved forward, crawling over the land, wailing a din that no words could describe. The noise filled the Angel with a sense of great loss and indefinable sorrow.

The ferryman gestured over the land as they passed through, “These are the forgotten dead. The ones everyone pushed aside in life, doomed to wander forever in purgatory, seeking out the light and a promise of peace the gods promised, but could not give. Your petty deities do not care about those that need them most and only regale those who give them gifts. The prostitutes, the murdered, the victims of brutal crimes, the innocent killed by the favored of the gods... _here_ is there final resting place and one day, this too will be the resting place of your so called gods when the end of all things comes. They will wander as ghosts, forever seeking out solace in these forsaken, barren lands.”

The Angel looked at the forgotten, cast away by the gods like broken toys. “I know not of this. I am no god, only an angel. I have no followers or devotees that I have forgotten. This no concern of mine.” He said the last to himself, “This is not my fault…I do not have the bended ear of gods.” Yet still, his heart stirred with a great pity unknown to pagan gods.

“Those who are inactive and do nothing are as guilty as the rest.” The ferryman grinned as he pushed the boat deeper into the lands.

Soon they came to a river that boiled and foamed, the souls leaping out in agony as it entered a place of fire hotter than Hell, more searing than any heat ever felt and filled with creatures so hideous and twisted, they burned their visages into the eyes of the Angel who could no longer unsee their horrific forms. No demons could match them as these creatures were of long forgotten nightmares and fear. They laughed and sang in hellish choirs, their dancing captivating yet so twisted that bile rose in the Angel's mouth as he watched them torment the souls with wicked glee, twisting them into things no words could describe.

“The most sinful, whose sins cannot be washed off, come here to Tartarus to forever suffer without end. Here is where the worse of your gods will be and you too shall be here, Angel. You reek of sin, of doing nothing with your talents to help others. Your pride had weighted your soul and dirtied you to the core, and once you leave this place, all too shall see how twisted you are inside. This is a place of truth and the truth shall always be bared, no matter how horrific it is!”

“M-my purpose is to do nothing! I am no god!” insisted the Angel, fearful. He tried to look from the horrid faces but could not. Even when he shut his eyes he could still see them. “My purpose is to inspire. I am a muse. I am not allowed direct interference…” But the Angel’s words echoed hollow, for in this moment he knew he was dirty as the lowliest devil present here. “Who would send us here? You could not place gods here. They are far too powerful to be captured…”

It was the Angel’s fleeting hope that he could hide behind the might of the more powerful gods.

“There is only one god here. Only one god that rules the lands that is the gods’ doom. He is the end of all things. He is the lord of purest death, the nothingness that pours out to cleanse the universe of the gods to allow new ones to rise. He is the very cycle of the universe.” The ferryman says, bringing the boat to a halt on the shores the river in front of a palace of untold size, a thick fog of torment and a haze of blood surrounded it. Shrieks echoed in the air and voices wailed and hissed, telling the Angel to go back even as the ferryman pointed, “Your answers lie within with his lordship, the Infernal One.”

The Angel quaked with fear, looking upon the dread palace. For the first time in his life, he regretted his curiosity but did nothing against it. He marched forward and faced ahead. Whether this would be his doom or his salvation, only he would learn. He prayed that some god—no matter how powerless and minor—was watching over him and sent him their protective prayers.

The passage was long and silent, but a light grew at the end, leading into a huge chamber where a figure sat. He was neither twisted, nor godly looking. His appearance was that of a sea troll wearing armor, but his gaze seemed to pull the very soul from the Angel and see deep into him, already condemning him to his faith,

“Speak your questions. You have already decided to pay the price for knowledge,” the figure said, the voice deep, echoing in the room and causing horrified moans to arise in the dark.

“You are a god, so dreadful a god to rule this place, yet you look nothing like a god!” The Angel said, eyes wide.

The figured laughed, “I am a god. A true god. I have no need to look inhuman to declare myself so. I have no need to be gaudy and vain as the gods, to create a persona and likeness to bring fear and awe to mortals. I take the face of what they truly should fear and the truest monster of them all. They will not dare draw me for I look too much like them. They see themselves in my gaze. They see my judgment in their own eyes.”

His words rang true, for in this den of insanity, the forgotten, and evil, this figure stood out the most and would forever be burned into the Angel’s memory.

“I wish to know everything that is beyond.” said the Angel, “Beyond Earth there is Heaven. Beyond Heaven there is Hell. Beyond Hell is this forgotten and nameless realm. What is beyond this? What else is there? Is this the end of infinity itself?”

The Infernal One laughed and leaned forward, leaning closer and the Angel felt frozen in fear, his soul quivering as the figure reached out to grip the front of his chest, fingers digging cruelly into his skin.

“The answer is simple. What is beyond is limited to what you can comprehend. There is only a beyond if you believe there is. For those who are content, there is no beyond. Perhaps there is none and never was. But you will never know nor be able to speak of your musings,” The hand pushed in through flesh and bone without pause as if it was water, gripping his voice and pulling it out, laughing, “Your voice belongs to me, to entertain me with its sweet words and songs. No longer can you be a muse and be contented to your duties. Now, now you will serve a new purpose to pay for your sins. For not helping those that needed you most, for your curiosity that had you abandon yourself, for your pride which made you think you were beyond retribution!”

The Angel wailed. He grabbed the arm, trying to pull it out of him, but it was as if moving stone.

“Surely my sin is not as great as those who claim to hate.” whimpered the Angel, “Surely I am not the worst of those gods who claim to be gaudy. Why punish me and not take your whips and chains to those in higher power?”

“Their time will come. They will all be at my mercy. You though, you came early and for now, you are mine. That is the price you pay for such knowledge,” The Infernal One said before pulling his arm out of the Angel, pulling his voice out.

He dragged the Angel to a room painted with the blood and broken bones of fallen gods. Rendered flesh and muscle stretched across the floor and walls. The Angel was pinned to a table by great iron spires as the Infernal pulled his deadly tools from the wall.

“You will be the agent of the end, to drag them all to my feet when the time comes. I will send you as a warning of things and creatures they cannot fathom. To remind gods of what _fear_ is.” He sneered and began his awful work.

The Angel’s mind could barely comprehend what was happening to him. All he knew was pain, an eternity’s worth of agony in exchange for the forbidden knowledge he had gained. Without his voice he could not even plead or beg for the attention of those gods he had believed in and even such prayers would never reach them in this evil place. He wailed and wept but through the pain, he realized there was no point. He accepted the awful exchange, not knowing what he would be at the end of the Infernal One’s remaking.

The Infernal One said no words and made no sound as he worked but his face was split into a grin, covered in blood. He dragged the twisted Angel away from his palace and threw him into the pits of Tartarus where the other creatures welcomed him with open arms and fangs, pulling him into their awful din and dance, whispering things to the Angel. Then they raised him up, up toward the yawning shadows, pushing him further and further until the hellish place was far behind and only clawing hands remained as they cast the once angel out of the chasm and into the world with a screeching howl that echoed throughout Heaven and Hell, sending a chill through each god, angel, and demon, who then came to see what had caused such a wretched sound.

The Angel had been transformed, from a creature of light and sound to the Beast at Time’s End, the great pagan dragon with seven heads and ten horns, and upon his head the name of blasphemy. All the angels of Heaven descended to see their fallen brother and wept. All the demons of Hell were aghast in terror on his monstrous abominable form. Only the last visitor to the scene was not frozen in terror but stoic: the Consort of Causality, the Great Harlot who sung the coming of the apocalypse.

“The angel has fallen. Curiosity has murdered him,” she declared, “but his ugliness suits my golden sicknasty heresies. He shall be my steed and on his back I shall reign over the kings of the earth until I destroy them.”

And the Consort of Causality took sacred gold from her body and fashioned ten crowns and adorned him as her monstrous lover. The Beast accepted it, knowing he had become the most monstrous being in existence and every minute of his life was pain. He now brought destruction as he had creativity; not pursuing love or answers, but only the will of the Infernal.

 


	4. the end of angels

**== >Sollux: Listen to Feferi conclude the story**

 

There is silence after the end of the story. Everyone is very still, as if they fear the Infernal One or the Beast would pop up suddenly and drag them off to the pit. Rose’s eyes are open but you know it’s not in fear; she’s always mesmerized by such lurid tales of gory horror.

Eridan is the first to speak. “Fef…” he says, slowly, “…why did you _memorize_ that story?”

“Well, it’s a very terrifying story!” Feferi insists, “It’s hard to forget that sort of thing when the other Tome stories involve who killed what king and people speaking on mountaintops to the King of Heaven.”

“Just because that story’s in the Tome doesn’t mean its true.” you say and hope your voice isn’t warbling. You keep thinking about the Angel being mutilated alive and… _nope_. There’s no way that can happen. It’s just a story to terrify little kids into being good Orthodoxians.

“I kinda like this guy,” Dave says, “The Infernal guy, I mean.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Karkat says.

“No, I’m not.” Dave says, “He has a point about the nature of evil being more normal and natural looking than some supernatural creature. Regular people are a lot scarier than any monster. Look at the long history of scary as fuck serial killers we have. They weren’t possessed. They were just fucked up.”

“You’re enjoying this in a weird way.” Karkat says.

“The _point_ of the story is to show that no one is above sin. Not to say that we’re all monsters.” Feferi says, frowning. “It _also_ means that you shouldn’t dabble in dark arts to gain knowledge you have no purpose in acquiring.”

Nepeta is flipping through the book now, having drifted in and out of paying attention to the story. “You know, most of the rituals in here do seem to have trade going on. Here’s one to save a loved one from illness, one to reverse the fate of another, one to gain knowledge into your future, but it’s vague on what they want in return.”

You think of your mother, laid up in bed and suffering. Her nails are starting to become brittle, paling from the healthy golden yellow to white. She’s so weak now that she can’t even put up much of a fight about seeing a doctor. It’s not like she can physically fight you on the matter anymore.  

You don’t want to think about what the doctor will say.

 _I don’t believe in this shit. Why am I considering this?_ you ask yourself.

You can’t find a way to argue against it though.

“We should try it anyways. We’re all going to go crazy with curiosity if we don’t.” you say, quietly.

“Agreed.” says Rose, “I doubt it will even work.”

“I _doubt_ you think that.” Dave snorts.

“And curiosity caused the Angel to fall. Did you not _hear_ my story? Do you even know how to set up defenses against demons? What if you end up cursing the residence or allowing an evil to take hold in the park?” Feferi says, biting her lip but she knows the look in your eye and why you want to try it.

“I can google it.” you say. Feferi makes face. “Fef, you know I’m the last person to deal with this sort of shit. Calm down.”

“I wash my hands of this!” Feferi insists, going back inside the house, “Have fun getting cursed or whatever you’re going to do!”

“It’s not as if a curse could make this place any _worse_.” Karkat snorts.

“Let’s just go already.” You insist. You look at Eridan. “Are you coming along, fish lips or did Fef’s bedtime nightmare story book you?”

Eridan shakes his head. “No. Traditionalists have the same story but with a few crucial differences. For instance--”

“ _No_!” Karkat groans, “We do _not_ have the time for another drawn out story of stupid gods and angels and whatever. Let’s just _go_.”

“Karkat is right to be preoccupied.” Rose now has the book again, eyes observing on the pages. “We have a bevy of items to pick up if we’re to fend off possible demonic intrusion. Pure water, salt, bells, wind chimes, flutes, garlic, horseshoes…”

“I think we’re going to have to go back to Goodwill.” Nepeta sighs. 

“Thank gods we got an SUV.” You sigh.

“I call shotgun.” Eridan insists.

Eridan and Karkat argue for shotgun while Rose and you talk about where you can get the items.


	5. fun with demons

**== >Sollux: Assemble your curiosity seekers **

 

Assembling some of the items proves to be much more difficult than you originally thought. While you easily locate pure water, garlic, and salt at 7-11 and the Dollar Store, you have trouble getting a disposable flute. There’s a debate about whether it’s worthwhile to pay the expense of an actual flute, getting a plastic flute, or if a recorder is the same thing as a flute. In the end, you settle on a plastic toy flute. Horseshoes are also difficult because getting metal ones means you spend several hours running around Hive Depot. At eight your group separates for dinner and at ten reassembly at Rose’s. Roxy is absent, as she is most evenings.

“Alright, let’s go over the item checklist I made.” says Rose. She looks at the group and frowns. “Where’s Dave?”

“Jade and him were talking about something important,” Karkat says, “He said he’s going to meet us at Egbert’s and he’s getting beer too.”

You go over the items, which you place in a duffel bag. When everything’s counted for, it’s an hour from midnight. “Looks like we got everything and the book.” You nod to Rose. “Let’s go.”

Rose grins. “We’ll have to walk through people’s yards and avoid the street lights. I’m sure the police are still patrolling or hiding somewhere.”

“Whatever happens, this is going to be interesting.” Eridan says, “I also didn’t tell Kan what’s going on since she’s watching the eggs with Terezi and Fef.”

“I’m sure she already knows and deeply disapproves.” Rose chuckles.

“Let’s _go_ already.” You insist.

You leave Lalonde’s trailer under the cover of night. All of you are wearing black and sprayed down with insect repellant. The night is dark and oddly quiet. The neighborhood is devoid of police cars or patrolling officers. It almost feels like something larger knows what’s going on and is paving a way for you. Even the door of the Egbert trailer is open, which is odd considering last you recalled the police locked it. You lead the way into the trailer, ignoring the damages from the Cherub assault or the stink of old blood.

“So, we set up in here or in another room?” you ask, “I mean, people might see the light of the candles when we have to light them,”

Nepeta is unpacking the book, opening it up to the ritual to summon spirits to help cleanse someone of sickness. She laid it open on the floor, holding a flashlight over it. She pauses, looking up, “So, do you think when it asks for a knife kissed by the hungry spirits, they are asking for a specific sort of knife or will any old knife be good?” She points to the ritual patterns. “We have to give a little blood to coax the spirits to come to the ritual.”

“Most rituals call for a double edged knife but really any knife that’s considered sacred will do.” Rose says.

“I think we can set up candles in here because of the curtains. Not like anyone’s going to see much through them.” Karkat says, returning to your earlier point.

“Who’s going to make the blood sacrifice?” Eridan asks.

“I will.” You say. This is for your mother, no matter how stupid you may feel doing it. She’s the only person who should have the favor of powerful creatures, real or imagined.

“Thank gods the Dollar Store had black candles from Eldritch Night.” Nepeta says and helps Karkat set up the candles. “Do we know what we’re asking for?”

“A cure.” You say, quietly.

“It says everyone participating in the ritual has to make a blood sacrifice. Just a cut on the palm and to bleed in sacred cup...which I guess is this thing?” Nepeta says, setting a novelty occult cup in the center of the room. Rose nods and takes out a red chalk, laying down the basic outline of the summoning circle. 

 

 

“You know, there seems to be a lot of sacred items,” Eridan says, looking nervous as Rose adds the summoning circle symbols. “Shouldn't we, you know, check to make sure they’re the right sort? This isn't summoning a normal demon. This is its own faith. We might want to be more detailed about it.” 

“A ritual is a ritual!” Karkat snaps. He takes his place in the circle. “I doubt spooky spirits will know the difference. Rose seems to have a good idea of what to do.”  

“Roughly so.” Rose says, “I’m working off of translations after all.”

“You mean you don’t _know_?” Eridan says, sounding shrill. “These aren’t regular demons we’re dealing with, Lalonde! These are dangerous dark forces of an ancient faith. Even Traditionalists have stories about them, like--”

“No more fucking _stories_.” Karkat groans, “Are you in or out, Eridan?”

“I’m in!” Eridan glares at Rose, “And I’m _only_ in because I’m the only one who knows how to deal with these demons in case something goes wrong.”

“You’re not even a priest yet,” Rose points out, “and your god is a god of lust. What are you going to do? Give them a really good blowjob if we fuck up?”

“Blowjobs have solved a lot of problems in the past!” Eridan insists. He reaches out for the knife, taking it from Nepeta. He cuts his palm with a skill you didn’t think he had, “And Lalonde, we know enough about you to know you don’t like to admit when you’re over your head.”

Rose glares at him with sudden irritation. “This is different.” She says, between clenched teeth. She takes the knife next. “This was my idea in the first place. I’m not backing down now.”

Eridan glares at her but silently looks away.

The knife is passed around until everyone had cut their palm and dripped blood into the cup. Rose clears her throat and begins the incantation:

“ _‘We gather here to beseech the spirits of the lowest realm, of shadows and cleansing waters, of the great Infernal One, his child, and all the courts beneath his will to hear these given prayers,’_ ” She begins, her throat was dry and cracking some as she chants, “ _‘We shed blood this evening upon the sacred vessel and ask the spirits to come and have their fill of blood to speak with us and make a pact for the health and wellness of another.’_ ”

The air is turning colder and colder and soon you can see your breath. You blink as you feel water drop on you. You look up, notice the ceiling is leaking but that’s normal. All trailers leak from the ceiling. And the walls. And the floors. Honestly everything seems wet in the trailer. Nepeta gasps, eyes fixed on the cup which is starting to shake. The spilt blood in it sloshes out like something’s drinking from it. Then it’s violently thrown across the room where it shatters against the wall.

The trailer fills with a loud groaning sound but you try to pass it off as creaky floorboards and the wind. You look around at the others and notice Rose’s face is white as a sheet and she’s the first to scream.

“Something ran across my foot!” she yells. You’ve never seen fear on Rose’s face.

“M-maybe it was a just a rat?” Nepeta mutters. A quiver goes through Rose at the thought.

“Egbert’s trailer doesn’t have— _holy shit_!” Karkat begins, pointing behind you.

Your turn and see rats pouring out of the kitchen, running around the room in a panic and smearing the chalk lines of your summoning circle.

“They’re ruining the protection circle!” Eridan yells. Now he looks as terrified as Rose. He reaches into his shirt, yanks out a metal dodecagram star, and immediately starts chanting in Old Alternian.

The room gets even colder as the rats flee out any hole they can find. Over their frightened squeaking, you swear you can hear whispering. In the middle of Eridan’s chanting, he suddenly yelps.“My back! It is burning! Ow ow _ow_!”

You rush over to him, growling at Eridan to stop fidgeting so you can lift his shirt up and see the damage. “Calm _down_ , Eridan. You’re just--” And your voice is caught in your throat as you see four, neat, parallel scratch marks racing down his back. They’re deep enough that they’re starting to bleed.

“He’s being attacked!” Rose gasps.

“Fuck this shit...!” Karkat says, pale and trembling. His voice comes out a higher pitch than usual and if you weren't so terrify you would have made fun of him.

Karkat turns to leave before yelping and jumping back. He almost falls over as he holds his leg. He lifts up the pant leg and looks at an identical set of scratches on his leg.

A growling comes from the shadowy corners of the room, which look darker than normal. The candles hiss and flicker, threatening to go out and with each flicker, the shadow grow larger. It’s like they’re watching you.

“I…I think something went wrong.” Nepeta manages. Her tail is frizzed out and she picks up the book, arms clasped around it as if it could make it all go away.

“Something went very wrong!” Rose concludes, albeit louder.

Karkat is still looking at his leg. “Something _scratched_ me…” he whispers, “Something fucking _scratched_ me!”

There’s a loud _pop!_ above you and sparks rain down from the shattered overhead light. Light bulbs throughout the trailer start popping and cracking, showering sparks. A harsh wind blows through the trailer, finally snuffing out the candles. It’s even colder now; colder than it should be in New Jack City.

Karkat has recovered from his attack and is now attacking the door handle. The door refuses to budge. “Let me out! _Let me fucking out!_ ” he yells in a panic.   
  
The door slams open, cracking into Karkat's face. A peal of laughter rushes through the trailer that makes the hair stand on end.

“Okay, Kanaya and Feferi! This is NOT funny!” You yell, thinking the two of them did this on purpose to try and scare you into believing the crap they were telling you.

Eridan is clinging to you with fear, whining as things are being knocked around. Something throws garlic at Rose, following by a mocking laugh. Karkat is petrified, holding the blood gushing from his nose.

Nepeta is frantically looking through the book for the ritual, putting her finger on the passage, “‘ _The ritual is complete! Return to shadows far below! Let water rush you through to your final rest!’_ ” She unscrews the cap on the pure water and starts splashing it around.

There is laughter again and you feel... _something_ cold pass through you. The whispers in the room grows louder but then you hear a murmuring: _Say a name! Say a name! Say a name!_

The original ritual had been to heal sickness, so all the spirits want is to finish the pact, right? Unless this is just a bad practical joke or your imagination getting the best of you. You still have a choice or not to say your mother's name...

“ _Latula Pyrope!_ ” you yell, over the laughter and the chaos.

The laughter doesn’t stop, only growing louder. A cracking sound begins in the trailer and you feel the floor start to sway. Your stomach twists, not liking this sudden movement. Mosquitoes and flies rush into the trailer through the open window, swarming over the spilt blood and yourselves. You have to use your hands and psionics to keep them from crawling all over you. There’s another loud _crack!_ and the floor quakes, sloping toward the far western side of the room. Black sludge bubbles up from the floor, leaking between the boards. You scream as you slide towards it. You probably would have gone into the black water if Karkat and Rose hadn’t grabbed your arms and hoisted you back. More foul smelling water is pouring into the trailer, swallowing up the living room as it begins to sink.

Everyone is clamoring for the front door: Nepeta with the book under one arm and tail frizzed up. Eridan is crying as he struggles to get through the door as more black fluid starts seeping in. You run over and slip through the stuff, smelling like the sewer and leftover oil. You all rush out, practically falling onto the muddy lawn. You scramble off the ground as more black fluid seeps onto the lawn, smothering the grass and coating your ankles. Rats are also struggling with the fluid and Rose screams, getting off the ground and running to the street. You grab Eridan and run after her. You all stumble into the street—muddy, scratched, bitten, and terrified. Standing in the road are Petros (of all trolls), a confused looking Dave holding a six pack, and Dirk next to him. You guess your screaming got everyone’s attention.

There’s another loud _crack_ behind you and you turn. The Egbert trailer snaps in two; the black fluid bubbles rapidly and starts to swallow the structure. You swear you can see hands pulling it down into the putrid mud, the whispers in the air fading. Only silence and the stench of the black fluid are left. The night air hangs heavy and cold with everyone’s eyes focusing on the tarry black lot. It doesn’t even look like mud in the dark night; just a slab of shadows lying on the ground, hissing and frothing between the shriveled remaining shrubbery. There’s no sign of the trailer, not even a chunk of metal or a piece of the cheap siding floating on the mud. It’s gone, as if it never existed in the first place.

 

 

 

Karkat is the first to speak. “We all just _saw_ that right?” His voice is shaken, from the broken nose and fear.

You don’t have an answer for that. Not even Rose has a purple prosy word in her horrified expression. You think her hair would be white from how frightened she looks.

Petros frowns and looks over all of you but doesn't say a word. He glances at Dirk. “Did that hive belong to someone you know? You might want to inform them that they aren't getting their home back...”

  
No one answers. Nepeta is still quaking, holding the book with her eyes fixed to the mud. A few more bubbles hiss before it settles and the shadows seem to ebb away. You first look at your arms, at the cuts marking them. They’re just as long and deep as the ones on Karkat. The same number of claws. You lick your dry lips and look at the others, not sure what to say. 

“What the hell were you guys doing? You look cut up and like you saw a ghost ...” Dave murmurs. Dirk looks just as confused but Petros has a grimmer expression.

“Maybe they might have seen a few things worse than ghosts…” says the elder brownblood, “And probably just cursed that land by not putting back to sleep what they dragged forward…” He murmurs low.

Cursed land? Oh gods. You look at Rose. “We don’t touch that book. We don’t do _anything ever again_ with it. We all pitch in and buy another trailer for the Egberts so they don’t get poltergeisted.” You know you’re babbling but you were always an unbeliever…well, until something actually happened to you.

“Considering how their land _sunk into the ground,_ maybe they’re better off.” Dirk says.

“Uh huh.” Eridan says, distracted. He’s trying to rub at the claw marks on his back.

Rose finally speaks up in a hoarse voice, “How are we going to explain this to the police?”

“Better question: how are _you_ going to explain to your boyfriend that you sunk his home with black magic?” Dave asks.

The rest of the neighborhood is starting to empty out of their trailers, wondering what the noise and smell is. John isn’t among them but it’s only a matter of time before he figures out what’s going on. Maybe he’s learning it right now since Dave is texting.

“I think you should open with a joke.” Dirk suggests, looking at the crowd.

Neighbors are crowd around the sunken property, asking what’s going on. Some are panicking about their own homes sinking in the mud, reporting all the leaks in the roof and foundation. Other reminiscent on what happened to South Street once things began sinking over there. Others are texting friends, snapping pictures, or laughing up the further decay of the trailer park. The stench that was sulfuric and only slightly present inside the trailer is becoming more powerful and pungent. Eventually a police car cruises by, containing two of the most burnt-out and bitter looking officers you have ever seen.

They both settle eyes on the patch of empty muddy ground and have three choice words: “Holy fucking shit.”

They immediately call for backup regarding the situation. In a half-hour another police car arrives with a news truck trailing it. It must be a slow news week because they’re interviewing everyone. Great. Just when you thought you got _rid_ of all the parasites.

“Even at one in the morning, things are yet to settle down in the Ninth Ward.” says a reporter, “A trailer has vanished under mysterious circumstances! Many are blaming a sinkhole opening up under the property, calling into question the safety of all surrounding properties and the expansion of the infamous swampland that encompasses most of the Ninth Ward. I’m sure any of our older viewers will recall that this is the first time a Ninth Ward neighborhood has been surrendered to the swamps…”

You’re too exhausted to deal with the news media. You take Eridan by hand, letting the others deal with this. You walk down the road, slopping through the mud.

“How’s your back?” you ask.

“Fucking _hurts_ of course, Sol!” he snarls.

You should have figured that. “I’m never going to hear the end of this from Fef.”

“No.” Eridan huffs. “Did you really mean that? Saying your Mom’s name?” You don’t answer and Eridan sighs, stopping in his tracks. “Sol. C’mon. I think I got scraped by a demon. The _least_ you can do is answer me honestly about shit you’re going through.”

“It was just the first name that popped into my head.” you say. You move forward but Eridan remains frozen on the spot. “Are you _seriously_ trying to have a heart to heart talk with me in the middle of a gross, muddy road after we dealt with a poltergeist?” Eridan folds his arms, stubbornly. “Eridan.” Eridan huffs, gills flaring. “Oh my fucking _gods_. What do you want me to say?”

“Sol,” Eridan says, quietly, “it’s not stupid to admit that you wished Latula was better or that it’s bothering you that you can’t do anything to help her.”

“It doesn’t bother me. I’m just dealing with it. It’s…” You shrug. “It’s _whatever_ , okay? People get sick and they die. A lot. Often. She’s going to die _someday_.”

“Yeah, but _now_?”

The question hangs in the air. You don’t dare answer it. You don’t have time for this shit. You go back to your trailer without saying a word. Eridan lingers briefly but then follows you closely. At the trailer, Kanaya is still in the living room chatting with Terezi.

Kanaya takes one look at you and sighs. “Looks like you did something stupid after all.”

“Yeah.” Eridan admits, sheepishly. “Definitely going to have nightmares for the next…hundred years or so.”

You give a tired wave to Kanaya and your sister. “Egbert’s trailer is gone, the police are wondering what the hell we did, which I have no clue, I am going to bed and turning up the sopor high, goodnight everybody.”

You walk to your bedroom and strip off your clothes. They’re sweaty and gross from terror. You crank up the sopor content high for your recuperacoon and climb in, enjoying the soothing heat and scent of slime. You fall asleep and when you wake up, Eridan is clinging to you like the world’s biggest cicada. You don’t bother pushing him away, since he’s the least of your concerns right now.  


	6. feeding frenzy

**== >Sollux: Be Dave at that moment **

“So,” you say, “explain to me your logic of what was _supposed_ to happen?”

Rose and you are standing on the far side of the empty Egbert lot, watching the media feeding frenzy. The local news has been starving for a good story but post-shootout in New Jack has had only slim pickings. Now that national eyes are on New Jack City, crime has died down to negligible levels. Three news stations are covering this incident, conducting interviews with the befuddled police and residents.

Petros and Dirk are standing side by side, watching with mild interest but no one is approaching them. They must look too intimidating. Karkat snarled when you asked him about his bleeding nose and limped back to the trailer like a grouchy crab and. You’re too interested to leave the scene. You share a beer with Rose and watch the chaos.

Rose sips at the lukewarm alcohol, still staring at the patch of mud. “I don’t know.” she quietly admits, “I didn’t know what would happen but I hoped _something_ would...”

“Looks like you got your wish.” you say, “Did you ever think that messing around with demons would be a really _bad_ idea?”

“Yes,” Rose admits, “but that didn’t deter me as much as I thought it would. After dealing with psychos, it’s…I don’t know, _reliving_ to know that there are _bigger_ things to be scared of.” She inhales, sighs, “There are worse things to be afraid of; things that dwarf madmen with too much money and power.”

Her eyes have a distant look as she says that and you know that the fear in Rose’s eyes isn’t going to be replaced by curiosity anytime soon. This is one horrorterror she’s not going to go reading about. This is an unsettling fear that gets locked in a box and tossed into the ocean.

You both lapse into silence, watching the police fail to get in contact with the DD. Failing that, they try to call a dredging company to pull the trailer out of the mud.

“You know,” you say, “this shit would make a great horror movie.”

“Yes. The stupid girl wreaks havoc on her friends and lovers.” Rose sighs, “Just another day in the Ninth Ward. Do you think they’ll unearth the trailer?”

“Not at this rate.” You say, observing the frustrated policemen. You see Aradia’s in front of the camera telling some questionable and spooky story. You think it’s a Megido tradition to freak out the local media.

“I think I should go to your trailer and wait for John. _Whenever_ he gets home.” Rose sighs, “If he’s conscious long enough, we’ll have a long talk about what happened.”

“That’ll be fun to record.”

“No.”

“But I could use it as material in my script.”

“ _No_.” Rose says firmly, “I’m sure you don’t want to record the reaction and me trying to sway John out of what is _definitely_ going to be anger.”

”You have a plan already?”

Rose smiles wryly. “I have a method in mind.”

You have a feeling about what that method could entail. Maybe you _don’t_ want to be there. You look over at Dirk and Petros who are talking and then walking off, heading back to your trailer. You nod to Rose and decide you need to mosey your way home as well. Jade must be getting worried with the state Karkat arrived in.

“Have you noticed they’ve been hanging out recently?” Rose asks.

“Yeah. I guess Bro’s got a new pal.” You’re glad Bro has _someone_ to talk to.

“I would honestly like to talk to Petros. Imagine all that we could learn about Old Alternia from him. All the mysteries that could be solved.”

You don’t know about Petros. He seems like a bigger and intimidating version of Rufioh. While Rufioh is popular because he’s so chill, Petros is more of an introverted loner. You still feel he could skin you alive. You get that feeling about a lot of OG trolls, honestly.

“I’m not so curious to risk death.” You say.

Rose frowns, considers what happened just a few minutes ago, and goes quiet again. You didn’t mean it as a barb toward her but it’s too late to take it back now. When you get to your trailer, you immediately go to your husktop and start writing. The creative bug is gnawing at you hard tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy belated Halloween! I hope you caught all the horror movie shout outs in the illustrations! :D


End file.
